Yasmin stood in disbelief as she read the contents of a transcript that had arrived from her homeland. The telegraph was short, but its contents were enough to overwhelm the Moorish princess.
"The Sultan is dead. His army was ambushed in Morocco. There are no survivors."
Tears streamed from the women's amber eyes and affected the ink that stained the page. She always knew her brother would get himself killed in some vain pursuit of glory, but she did not expect it to happen so soon. Berengar was in the room, latching his arms around the woman's waist as he tried to comfort her.
"I'm sorry Yas, I don't know what to say, even I didn't think he would die so soon... What the hell was he thinking?"
The woman in mourning did not have an answer to Berengar's question. What was he thinking, indeed? While Yasmin was grieving for losing her brother, Berengar had more important things to worry about.
